Probably all of you have read If you Give a Mouse a Cookie, where the mouse gets a cookie, but then he wants milk, and a whole list of other things, and it just spirals into silliness (cute book, I like his little overalls). I am like the art history student version of the mouse. I have never been this unmotivated to finish a paper. I don't think I'm that much of a perfectionist, but I'm not happy with how this seminar paper is turning out, yet I don't have enough time, inclination, or interest to completely rewrite it by Monday. I hurt my neck today. I've been looking at my computer practicially non-stop for the past week, between this, and a presentation, and a 15 page annotated bibliography (finals week, eh?). Anyway, I turned sharply, and now have shooting pain up the right side of my neck and head, and now it hurts to turn left. This worked out well for me, though, as it just gave me an excuse to go lie down and avoid staring blankly at the word document. Other things I have done in the past two days to get out of this paper:
--watched four hours of royal wedding coverage, starting at 6 am yesterday. Call me an Anglophile, call me a mushbag, call me a hopeless romantic--I loved it. The tradition, the glamour, the dress, the vows, the beautiful people, the HATS. A lovely interlude in a really bad month.
--read 97 articles (conservative estimate) discussing the royal wedding. Traditions explained. Hat analysis. Middleton family history. Royal family history. Official photos. Anything that the BBC has posted in the past 24 hours, I have probably perused.
--listened to the Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack, approximately 26 times. You know what a great part is that no one knows about? The Wedding Procession. Very danceable.
--went for a late-ish night walk (with someone else, don't worry).
--did no constructive procrastination (ie, laundry, dishes, vacuuming), although I did pick up my kitchen a bit, and cleaned off my closet floor, which made me feel less crazed.
--went to check my mail and then went for a walk instead because it was so nice out.
--watched/listened to the entire first season of Arrested Development. Granted, most of that happened while I was marshaling images and doing another bibliography, but still, it is not very scholarly.
--on an impulse I bought Indian take-out last night, which was a lot more than I normally spend on food--it's one of the more expensive places I've been here, where the entrees are usually $15. But the food is great, and who doesn't want to eat saag paneer (spinach-curry-ginger-homemade cheese awesomeness) with naan and rice? So on the plus side, I haven't had to cook, but I did walk to the Indian place downtown which took awhile (did I mention that it has finally been REALLY NICE out?)
--went to the end of year graduate art history student celebration, which my advisor hosted at his house. A lovely house, too, Indiana limestone and with excellent art, of course. The department provides wine and a bunch of gallery-type food, plus pastas and salads, and really tasty brownies. It was a good few hours of sociability.
--painted my toenails and my fingernails.
--started researching phd programs
--started doing MA research (conveniently forgetting that I will not finish this degree if I don't FINISH THIS PAPER).
--tried to come up with fun saying to help me care about semiotics, and failed.
--stared at the cardinals outside on my plum tree.
--stared at the wall.
--filled in my May calendar.
--made studying play-lists, most of which involved Fiddler on the Roof.
--compulsively checked email (in case professor had decided to cancel paper, etc.)
Well, back to work! My neck is spasm-ing, so I'm going to stop typing for the evening. Tomorrow I am meeting friends for a hearty breakfast and then locking myself in the library until the paper is done or until the library closes, whichever comes first. Scholarly vibes welcome.
Saturday 30 April 2011
Thursday 28 April 2011
Omens and Portents
I've never been big on Edgar Allan Poe (and in fact find the story of the pilgrimage's to his grave with roses and cognac more interesting), but one thing that has stayed with me since seventh grade English class is that ravens are smart and spooky and BAD. Perhaps I never got into Poe because my only real exposure to him is seventh grade readings of "The Raven" and the Wishbone episode of "The Purloined Paper" (a great episode, actually, and presumably a good story). Anyway, that was my major exposure to both Poe and ravens, until two days ago.
I was sitting on my couch, typing an Italian presentation that I was giving that evening, while also gchatting one of my good friends while she worked the reference desk in Syracuse. Suddenly, I noticed that there was a squeaking noise outside my window and looking out I saw a raven with a baby chipmunk in his mouth. Another chipmunk already lay on the ground. I'm not going into details about what happened next, because it was genuinely awful, and after freezing for a minute in horror, I screamed, grabbed my computer, and ran into the bathroom. Even with my carpet-drying monster fans on and music still playing, I could still hear the chipmunks. My poor friend got to deal with my frantically typing to her, with many exclamation points. I wrote the presentation sitting on my bathroom floor, since I couldn't deal with looking out and seeing the...aftermath. I called my sister practically in tears. She understood--they had a mouse in their house earlier this year and got attached to it, and before their ordered humane trap had come, maintenance came and killed him, and she was really, really upset.
Now, it should be noted that I like birds. I spent a lot of summers as a part of Audubon camp, and my parents are both birders, so though I'm not great at identifying calls I am ok at identifying birds. And I like them. Even hawks. But I am also not exaggerating when I say that I hate this raven. Especially because of his killer beak. I realize this is totally not fair to the raven. He (or she) needs to get food. Maybe they were even taking the chipmunk back to their young. He (or she) has to kill to eat, it's not like they're doing it for the fun of it. But it put me in a terrible mood for the rest of the day.
And then, yesterday, I got back from running errands and was in the process of opening an AMAZING belated birthday present (Twilight trading cards meets a Caravaggio themed birthday card meets a holographic wrestler cup from 7-Eleven--my friends know me so well!!) when I looked out the window and the raven was back. Staring at the chipmunk hole. So I did what any self-respecting adult would do. I banged on the window, and yelled something along the lines of, "go away! you BASTARD, you already ate them!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!" to which he gazed at me very implacably and slowly flew off.
This is a rambling blog post, but the raven has rattled me. Not so much because it is perceived as omen, because I don't reaaally believe in those, but because it killed two creatures six feet from my apartment, and that is weirding me out. Such food chain examples probably happen close to me more often than I'd like to admit, but I don't usually SEE them. I'm in the process of a paper about celestial signs, so maybe omens and portents are just on my mind. And after having daily thunderstorms for the past two weeks, is it so much to ask for a rainbow, like the double one my sister saw last night, if we're talking about celestial signs? Give me a different sign than a raven, please.
I was sitting on my couch, typing an Italian presentation that I was giving that evening, while also gchatting one of my good friends while she worked the reference desk in Syracuse. Suddenly, I noticed that there was a squeaking noise outside my window and looking out I saw a raven with a baby chipmunk in his mouth. Another chipmunk already lay on the ground. I'm not going into details about what happened next, because it was genuinely awful, and after freezing for a minute in horror, I screamed, grabbed my computer, and ran into the bathroom. Even with my carpet-drying monster fans on and music still playing, I could still hear the chipmunks. My poor friend got to deal with my frantically typing to her, with many exclamation points. I wrote the presentation sitting on my bathroom floor, since I couldn't deal with looking out and seeing the...aftermath. I called my sister practically in tears. She understood--they had a mouse in their house earlier this year and got attached to it, and before their ordered humane trap had come, maintenance came and killed him, and she was really, really upset.
Now, it should be noted that I like birds. I spent a lot of summers as a part of Audubon camp, and my parents are both birders, so though I'm not great at identifying calls I am ok at identifying birds. And I like them. Even hawks. But I am also not exaggerating when I say that I hate this raven. Especially because of his killer beak. I realize this is totally not fair to the raven. He (or she) needs to get food. Maybe they were even taking the chipmunk back to their young. He (or she) has to kill to eat, it's not like they're doing it for the fun of it. But it put me in a terrible mood for the rest of the day.
And then, yesterday, I got back from running errands and was in the process of opening an AMAZING belated birthday present (Twilight trading cards meets a Caravaggio themed birthday card meets a holographic wrestler cup from 7-Eleven--my friends know me so well!!) when I looked out the window and the raven was back. Staring at the chipmunk hole. So I did what any self-respecting adult would do. I banged on the window, and yelled something along the lines of, "go away! you BASTARD, you already ate them!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!" to which he gazed at me very implacably and slowly flew off.
This is a rambling blog post, but the raven has rattled me. Not so much because it is perceived as omen, because I don't reaaally believe in those, but because it killed two creatures six feet from my apartment, and that is weirding me out. Such food chain examples probably happen close to me more often than I'd like to admit, but I don't usually SEE them. I'm in the process of a paper about celestial signs, so maybe omens and portents are just on my mind. And after having daily thunderstorms for the past two weeks, is it so much to ask for a rainbow, like the double one my sister saw last night, if we're talking about celestial signs? Give me a different sign than a raven, please.
Monday 25 April 2011
Making Order out of Chaos
I am an orderly person. I like things to be where I put them, I don't like taking massive risks (or if I do, I analyze them for a longlonglong time), and I am, in general, fairly organized.
There is nothing orderly with my life right now. My bedroom is in a state of despair as my carpet tries desperately to dry out against the humidity. The carpet has been pulled up and a large carpet fan and dehumidifier have been put to use (and I think it's working!!). My bed is pushed over so I have to climb over it to get in my bathroom. My closet and living room are equal messes, of clothes and of books. I have Italian translation notes everywhere. Much, much more importantly, I am missing my family so very much, although I was lucky enough to go be with them two weeks ago while we grieved for my gram, and continue to grieve together, via phone and card and email. I am hot and grumpy and behind in everything and I just want to go home. Now.
This might sound a tad melodramatic, but I'm sure you've all had those days or moments when it feels like everything is pressing on your chest, stress and sadness and loss and creeping panic, and it hurts to breathe and you don't really know what to do. Which happened this afternoon. I sat on the couch for awhile, in my apartment which sounds like an airplane hanger thanks to the fans, before my body came up with the answer: go to sleep. So I did. And an hour later, when I got up, things seemed ever so slightly better. And after cooking my meals for the next few days and eating a big salad with black beans and rice, things started to look even better--chopping eggs, apparently, is therapeutic.
Dealing with chaos, at least for me, is never something I have to do alone. My friends, both near and far, have made this April something that I could deal with, even when I didn't know how I would. So have my family. Even my professors have been genuinely kind, and willing to push back deadlines and work around my absence. I learned how to make Ukranian Easter Eggs yesterday, and had movie and wine nights with friends, and have been getting an influx of mail which is making everything so much better. I'm not surprised by any of this, as I know how wonderful the people in my life are. And that when this chaos has abated, I will have made it, I will have (probably) passed, and I will be ok. And with that in mind, I am going to go make some egg salad.
There is nothing orderly with my life right now. My bedroom is in a state of despair as my carpet tries desperately to dry out against the humidity. The carpet has been pulled up and a large carpet fan and dehumidifier have been put to use (and I think it's working!!). My bed is pushed over so I have to climb over it to get in my bathroom. My closet and living room are equal messes, of clothes and of books. I have Italian translation notes everywhere. Much, much more importantly, I am missing my family so very much, although I was lucky enough to go be with them two weeks ago while we grieved for my gram, and continue to grieve together, via phone and card and email. I am hot and grumpy and behind in everything and I just want to go home. Now.
This might sound a tad melodramatic, but I'm sure you've all had those days or moments when it feels like everything is pressing on your chest, stress and sadness and loss and creeping panic, and it hurts to breathe and you don't really know what to do. Which happened this afternoon. I sat on the couch for awhile, in my apartment which sounds like an airplane hanger thanks to the fans, before my body came up with the answer: go to sleep. So I did. And an hour later, when I got up, things seemed ever so slightly better. And after cooking my meals for the next few days and eating a big salad with black beans and rice, things started to look even better--chopping eggs, apparently, is therapeutic.
Dealing with chaos, at least for me, is never something I have to do alone. My friends, both near and far, have made this April something that I could deal with, even when I didn't know how I would. So have my family. Even my professors have been genuinely kind, and willing to push back deadlines and work around my absence. I learned how to make Ukranian Easter Eggs yesterday, and had movie and wine nights with friends, and have been getting an influx of mail which is making everything so much better. I'm not surprised by any of this, as I know how wonderful the people in my life are. And that when this chaos has abated, I will have made it, I will have (probably) passed, and I will be ok. And with that in mind, I am going to go make some egg salad.
Saturday 23 April 2011
April Showers Bring...
...floods.
In my apartment, to be more specific. I was at a friend's last night and got home around midnight, right before it started to storm (you know, with that creepy greenish tornado sky) and it rained really really hard for half an hour, before I thought, "oh, maybe I should look out the window and see what's up" and when I did, I could not see my little front lawn. I opened the door which doesn't open onto the lawn, and there was at least an inch or two of water flowing rapidly by. My doors held, but the one outer wall in my bedroom did not fare as well, since that was right by the flooded lawn. So I cleared the wall and perched on the bed with Me Talk Pretty One Day (for the 900th read) to see what would happen. The carpet got sodden about 3 feet into my bedroom, and then the rain let up, so it didn't spread much further.
I called maintenance's 24-hour line just to see if I needed to unplug anything or whatever, and they stopped by early this morning and called the carpet-cleaner guy to come steam it and get the dirt out. I borrowed a towel from a friend so I could shower (all of my towels have been put to use on my floor) and now I'm just waiting and Italian translating til he gets here.
The funny thing, I think, is that last Earth Day our apartment bathroom in Brooklyn flooded. I only remember this because my friends made fun of me for wasting so much water on Earth Day. Is this going to be a thing from now on, water escapades on Earth Day? I sort of hope not. It was ok though, because the thunder storm was spectacular, and I. Love. Them. Although a bit eerie for Good Friday, admittedly.
So a little more excitement then I was planning on for my Friday-Saturday evening hours, and I will probably have to take a nap later, but at least nothing got too gross. It's that time of the semester where I have strategically placed book piles all over everything, so at least none of those got wrecked--librarians hate wet books. And you'd be surprised how many people return wet books to public libraries! (I know this as a former libs page.) And it could always be SNOWING (right, WNY?) I'm just sad that most of the flowers near me got squashed by the heavy rain, and all the bark chips/mulch around the plum tree in front of my window washed all over the place.
In my apartment, to be more specific. I was at a friend's last night and got home around midnight, right before it started to storm (you know, with that creepy greenish tornado sky) and it rained really really hard for half an hour, before I thought, "oh, maybe I should look out the window and see what's up" and when I did, I could not see my little front lawn. I opened the door which doesn't open onto the lawn, and there was at least an inch or two of water flowing rapidly by. My doors held, but the one outer wall in my bedroom did not fare as well, since that was right by the flooded lawn. So I cleared the wall and perched on the bed with Me Talk Pretty One Day (for the 900th read) to see what would happen. The carpet got sodden about 3 feet into my bedroom, and then the rain let up, so it didn't spread much further.
I called maintenance's 24-hour line just to see if I needed to unplug anything or whatever, and they stopped by early this morning and called the carpet-cleaner guy to come steam it and get the dirt out. I borrowed a towel from a friend so I could shower (all of my towels have been put to use on my floor) and now I'm just waiting and Italian translating til he gets here.
The funny thing, I think, is that last Earth Day our apartment bathroom in Brooklyn flooded. I only remember this because my friends made fun of me for wasting so much water on Earth Day. Is this going to be a thing from now on, water escapades on Earth Day? I sort of hope not. It was ok though, because the thunder storm was spectacular, and I. Love. Them. Although a bit eerie for Good Friday, admittedly.
So a little more excitement then I was planning on for my Friday-Saturday evening hours, and I will probably have to take a nap later, but at least nothing got too gross. It's that time of the semester where I have strategically placed book piles all over everything, so at least none of those got wrecked--librarians hate wet books. And you'd be surprised how many people return wet books to public libraries! (I know this as a former libs page.) And it could always be SNOWING (right, WNY?) I'm just sad that most of the flowers near me got squashed by the heavy rain, and all the bark chips/mulch around the plum tree in front of my window washed all over the place.
Wednesday 20 April 2011
Just Do What You Like
I was on a flight over the weekend and while we were waiting to take-off I eavesdropped on the people in front of me. Not on purpose (although I am a master eavesdropper), as it was one of those tiny planes between Albany and Newark, so it's not like there was a lot of room. On one side of the aisle was the dad and little girl, and in front of me were the mom and little boy. The kids could have been twins, and maybe 7 years old, while I had noticed the mom in the airport because she had pink hair. Anyway, here's what they were talking about:
The Boy: Mom, I want to be a paleontologist. I want to look at dinosaur bones.
The Mom: You have been saying this for a long time, and I think you would be a great paleontologist! But you don't have to decide now. You've got lots of time to decide what you want to be. You know what job I wanted to have when I was younger?
The Boy: What?
The Mom: A plumber. Then I wanted to be a teacher. Then I majored in something that made me unemployable.
The Boy: What does that mean?
The Mom: It means I majored in anthropology.
The woman next to me laughs and says to me: Speaking of unemployable, I'm a philosophy professor.
Me: Well, I'm an art history grad student.
The woman next to me: We are all awesome back here.
The Dad: Maybe you should think about being a vet. Vets make more money than paleontologists, and you like animals, right? And then you won't have to buy tools to dig up things with.
Little Girl: HORSES!!!
The woman next to me, to the boy's mom: Once he gets to grad school, then people will pay for him to go dig places.
The Dad: Wouldn't that be cool? You could go look for dinosaurs anywhere!
The Boy: Yeah!! And I don't need money. I think people should just do what you like. That's better.
The Mom: That's right, honey. You work a lot, and it's so much better if you enjoy what you do.
The Boy: Because they just do what they like, right?
All of us: Yeah.
I'm not normally in peak form at 7 am, but this made me smile. Although it was followed with a chat with the SUNY professor (who was very nice and had a rockin' purse, by the way) about budget cuts and being on committees and where she had gone (Toronto!! Where I will likely apply, so that was cool) and dissertating and plagiarism all that sort of thing. And she was going to Prince Edward Island to be with her family over spring break, so I was pretty jealous about that. Still am, actually.
And as for me, and just doing what I like? After three manic days, I presented in my seminar today, followed by an Italian make-up test. They were probably both fine, I can never predict these things. I don't hate talking in class as much as I once did, but I'm still not wildly fond about presenting in conference-paper form, especially in something that I'm not totally comfortable talking about. (Like, for instance, comparative signs of prophecy in Ilkhanid manuscripts and Eastern Orthodox ones from the 1300s, for example. Actually, the Ilkhanids are amazing. I can go on about them a lot now, ha!) The professor for this course is exceptionally good, but she also knows she is exceptionally good, and she is one of those people that wants you to see things EXACTLY as she does, which gets frustrating. Best of all, I am DONE for the next 24 hours, so am taking the night off. I did dishes for the first time all week, and cooked dinner for the first time all week, even if it was just oddly-gluey potato pancakes and a glass of wine. I've got a stack of thank you notes to write, so I'm going to cuddle up with a blanket and do that now.
All in all, I'm doing what I like, I suppose. It's at that point in the semester when I don't know what I like anymore though, other than getting enough sleep, and I'm tired of feeling stupid or stressed or unprepared or homesick. But all in all--right on, paleontologist boy. Right on.
The Boy: Mom, I want to be a paleontologist. I want to look at dinosaur bones.
The Mom: You have been saying this for a long time, and I think you would be a great paleontologist! But you don't have to decide now. You've got lots of time to decide what you want to be. You know what job I wanted to have when I was younger?
The Boy: What?
The Mom: A plumber. Then I wanted to be a teacher. Then I majored in something that made me unemployable.
The Boy: What does that mean?
The Mom: It means I majored in anthropology.
The woman next to me laughs and says to me: Speaking of unemployable, I'm a philosophy professor.
Me: Well, I'm an art history grad student.
The woman next to me: We are all awesome back here.
The Dad: Maybe you should think about being a vet. Vets make more money than paleontologists, and you like animals, right? And then you won't have to buy tools to dig up things with.
Little Girl: HORSES!!!
The woman next to me, to the boy's mom: Once he gets to grad school, then people will pay for him to go dig places.
The Dad: Wouldn't that be cool? You could go look for dinosaurs anywhere!
The Boy: Yeah!! And I don't need money. I think people should just do what you like. That's better.
The Mom: That's right, honey. You work a lot, and it's so much better if you enjoy what you do.
The Boy: Because they just do what they like, right?
All of us: Yeah.
I'm not normally in peak form at 7 am, but this made me smile. Although it was followed with a chat with the SUNY professor (who was very nice and had a rockin' purse, by the way) about budget cuts and being on committees and where she had gone (Toronto!! Where I will likely apply, so that was cool) and dissertating and plagiarism all that sort of thing. And she was going to Prince Edward Island to be with her family over spring break, so I was pretty jealous about that. Still am, actually.
And as for me, and just doing what I like? After three manic days, I presented in my seminar today, followed by an Italian make-up test. They were probably both fine, I can never predict these things. I don't hate talking in class as much as I once did, but I'm still not wildly fond about presenting in conference-paper form, especially in something that I'm not totally comfortable talking about. (Like, for instance, comparative signs of prophecy in Ilkhanid manuscripts and Eastern Orthodox ones from the 1300s, for example. Actually, the Ilkhanids are amazing. I can go on about them a lot now, ha!) The professor for this course is exceptionally good, but she also knows she is exceptionally good, and she is one of those people that wants you to see things EXACTLY as she does, which gets frustrating. Best of all, I am DONE for the next 24 hours, so am taking the night off. I did dishes for the first time all week, and cooked dinner for the first time all week, even if it was just oddly-gluey potato pancakes and a glass of wine. I've got a stack of thank you notes to write, so I'm going to cuddle up with a blanket and do that now.
All in all, I'm doing what I like, I suppose. It's at that point in the semester when I don't know what I like anymore though, other than getting enough sleep, and I'm tired of feeling stupid or stressed or unprepared or homesick. But all in all--right on, paleontologist boy. Right on.
Saturday 9 April 2011
The Tax Man Cometh
Until this year, I thought people that complained about paying taxes were whiners. Part of this stems from the fact that my birthday is on tax day, so from an early age I got tired of people being grumpy on it, and also from the fact that I have never (foreshadowing: before now) had a problem with my taxes. My state and my federal usually cancel each other out--a not very exciting outcome, whereby I would only owe a little bit, or, like last year, receive a refund totaling $1.64.
But then I moved to Indiana. And had two different residences in New York state. And had jury duty. And got a scholarship, which hadn't had tax taken out. So when I started filling out my forms this year online, they started to get complicated. I couldn't figure it out, and neither could my income tax-genius mother, or the school's tax office, or financial aid. And, as we all know, the deadline is in less than a week. So I got up this morning and made it to the public library by 9 am, where they had AARP-related volunteers to provide free tax help, regardless of age or income. It was a wide variety of people who had lined up to fill out forms this morning--some community members and a lot of international students, which actually makes a lot of sense--if you're new to this country, you of course wouldn't know how to figure out our tax forms. There were four helpers, so we each got a number and then got called in. There were people with their elderly parents, an English kid who spoke French to a Creole woman in line, and the two students from Uzbekistan who were trying to figure out how to locate the right lines on their forms (I don't think they ever did figure that out. Oh, and they spoke French too!).
While I was waiting there for a few hours I ran through some articles and then found one of my favorite mysteries, part of a 4 book series which focused on four young barristers in London, narrated by a History Tutor at Oxford who is friends with them and visits them periodically (one small thing I love: you never find out if the Tutor, whose name is Hilary, is a man or a woman, although I would assume man). The protagonists, especially Julia Larwood, are always having battles with the Inland Revenue Service in England, and this particular passage struck a chord today:
"Julia's unhappy relationship with the Inland Revenue was due to her omission, during four years of modestly successful practice at the Bar, to pay any income tax. The truth is, I think, that she did not, in her heart of hearts, really believe in income tax. It was a subject which she had studied for examinations and on which she had therafter advised a number of clients: she naturally did not suppose, in these circumstances, that it had anything to do with real life.
The day had come on which the Revenue discovered her existence and reminded her of theirs. They had not initially asked her for money: they had first insisted, unreasonably but implacably, that she should submit accounts. They had shown by this that they were not motivated by a just and lawful desire to fill the public purse for the public benefit: their true purpose was to make Julia spend every evening for several months copying out the last four years' entries in her Clerk's Fee Book on an old typewriter that did not work properly. I myself am not entirely sure that the age and defectiveness of the typewriter were an essential feature of the Revenue's planning. But Julia was: every time it stuck, her bitterness towards them deepened. The Revenue, on receiving the result of her labours, had uttered no word of gratitude or commendation. They had demanded a large sum of money. More than she had. More, according to her--though I think that she cannot be quite right about his--than she had ever had. More than she could ever hope to have."
--Sarah Caudwell, Thus Was Adonis Murdered, 1981, p 11-12.
Moral of the story: The State of Indiana is demanding a large sum of money, as are the feds. More than I have. More than I have ever had. More than I could ever hope to have. Well, really, it's not that dire, if I'm honest. It's just certainly much more than I've ever had to pay before. Welcome to adulthood, I guess. And I'm not sure how taxes are distributed, though I suspect that quite a bit now goes to the military. I would be less grumpy if I could pick where my taxes went (hint: NPR, public schools, better reproductive health care.) And other than writing the checks (bummer) I am done for the year. So at least that's nice.
But then I moved to Indiana. And had two different residences in New York state. And had jury duty. And got a scholarship, which hadn't had tax taken out. So when I started filling out my forms this year online, they started to get complicated. I couldn't figure it out, and neither could my income tax-genius mother, or the school's tax office, or financial aid. And, as we all know, the deadline is in less than a week. So I got up this morning and made it to the public library by 9 am, where they had AARP-related volunteers to provide free tax help, regardless of age or income. It was a wide variety of people who had lined up to fill out forms this morning--some community members and a lot of international students, which actually makes a lot of sense--if you're new to this country, you of course wouldn't know how to figure out our tax forms. There were four helpers, so we each got a number and then got called in. There were people with their elderly parents, an English kid who spoke French to a Creole woman in line, and the two students from Uzbekistan who were trying to figure out how to locate the right lines on their forms (I don't think they ever did figure that out. Oh, and they spoke French too!).
While I was waiting there for a few hours I ran through some articles and then found one of my favorite mysteries, part of a 4 book series which focused on four young barristers in London, narrated by a History Tutor at Oxford who is friends with them and visits them periodically (one small thing I love: you never find out if the Tutor, whose name is Hilary, is a man or a woman, although I would assume man). The protagonists, especially Julia Larwood, are always having battles with the Inland Revenue Service in England, and this particular passage struck a chord today:
"Julia's unhappy relationship with the Inland Revenue was due to her omission, during four years of modestly successful practice at the Bar, to pay any income tax. The truth is, I think, that she did not, in her heart of hearts, really believe in income tax. It was a subject which she had studied for examinations and on which she had therafter advised a number of clients: she naturally did not suppose, in these circumstances, that it had anything to do with real life.
The day had come on which the Revenue discovered her existence and reminded her of theirs. They had not initially asked her for money: they had first insisted, unreasonably but implacably, that she should submit accounts. They had shown by this that they were not motivated by a just and lawful desire to fill the public purse for the public benefit: their true purpose was to make Julia spend every evening for several months copying out the last four years' entries in her Clerk's Fee Book on an old typewriter that did not work properly. I myself am not entirely sure that the age and defectiveness of the typewriter were an essential feature of the Revenue's planning. But Julia was: every time it stuck, her bitterness towards them deepened. The Revenue, on receiving the result of her labours, had uttered no word of gratitude or commendation. They had demanded a large sum of money. More than she had. More, according to her--though I think that she cannot be quite right about his--than she had ever had. More than she could ever hope to have."
--Sarah Caudwell, Thus Was Adonis Murdered, 1981, p 11-12.
Moral of the story: The State of Indiana is demanding a large sum of money, as are the feds. More than I have. More than I have ever had. More than I could ever hope to have. Well, really, it's not that dire, if I'm honest. It's just certainly much more than I've ever had to pay before. Welcome to adulthood, I guess. And I'm not sure how taxes are distributed, though I suspect that quite a bit now goes to the military. I would be less grumpy if I could pick where my taxes went (hint: NPR, public schools, better reproductive health care.) And other than writing the checks (bummer) I am done for the year. So at least that's nice.
Tuesday 5 April 2011
Focus On: ???
Art of the Week is taking on a different flavor this week, because 1. I am sleepy due to a 7:30 breakfast meeting this morning (at least the food was good!), so the brain is not firing on all cylinders, 2. there is some intrigue about this work, and 3. it'll give you all a chance to be art historians. So without further ado:
We acquired this work in 2006 from a collector who had Hoosier-roots even though he spent the vast majority of his life in Cambridge, MA. It is is listed in our catalogs as by Charles Dana Gibson--late 19th century illustrator extraordinaire, inventor of the Gibson Girl (and by extension: New Women, changing roles of feminists, fashions for young women, the counter example of the Gibson Man, etc), expert social critic and caricaturist, and subject of one on-going paper by yours truly. Except..it's not by Gibson, nor is it of the Gibson Girls, as the registered title would suggest.
So...what is it? The short answer is, we don't know. I have viewed it a few times (you can request a print viewing, which means I get to hang out with my museum-employed friends and look at prints which is awesome) and have viewed it with the works on paper curator and neither of us are the wiser. She had doubts about the attribution for awhile, as the subject matter doesn't seem very Gibson-like--he focused on society women, not immigrant or peasant women like these, even though their faces look similarly lovely, and he did draw servants sometimes. After consulting Gibson's signature on some known works, it confirmed what we already knew--somewhere along the way, the signature was misattributed (and the kind gent who donated the work was known for not having the greatest records of his works, so a dead end there).
Furthermore, we can't figure out what the signature IS. The curator has looked at signature dictionaries (yes, there is such a thing!) with no luck. My American professor rightly (I think) identified these girls as exotic "types," Spanish or Italian, but none of us know if it was created in Europe or America. Or when. The colors in the image are a bit washed out--the greens and reds are more vibrant in person, and really quite lovely. Gibson did do some work in oils and watercolors later in life, even though he is known primarily as an illustrator for Life. It's just a bummer that this work isn't one of his! It would have made my paper a lot cooler, for one thing. At the same time, though, it's kind of refreshing. I'm so used to studying Western art that is identifiable, that finding something new--even something as minor as this--is pretty fun. I just don't know what to do about it.
***
In completely unrelated news, my mom bought me a loveseat over the weekend (thanks, momma!) and it was delivered today and I'm lying on it now, which is making me really happy. I didn't have any real furniture in my living room until now ("living room" being a sort of a loose term as a I live in a studio). Despite being a used loveseat, it doesn't look too shabby! And who would turn down that awesome 1980's gold fringe, really.
We acquired this work in 2006 from a collector who had Hoosier-roots even though he spent the vast majority of his life in Cambridge, MA. It is is listed in our catalogs as by Charles Dana Gibson--late 19th century illustrator extraordinaire, inventor of the Gibson Girl (and by extension: New Women, changing roles of feminists, fashions for young women, the counter example of the Gibson Man, etc), expert social critic and caricaturist, and subject of one on-going paper by yours truly. Except..it's not by Gibson, nor is it of the Gibson Girls, as the registered title would suggest.So...what is it? The short answer is, we don't know. I have viewed it a few times (you can request a print viewing, which means I get to hang out with my museum-employed friends and look at prints which is awesome) and have viewed it with the works on paper curator and neither of us are the wiser. She had doubts about the attribution for awhile, as the subject matter doesn't seem very Gibson-like--he focused on society women, not immigrant or peasant women like these, even though their faces look similarly lovely, and he did draw servants sometimes. After consulting Gibson's signature on some known works, it confirmed what we already knew--somewhere along the way, the signature was misattributed (and the kind gent who donated the work was known for not having the greatest records of his works, so a dead end there).
Furthermore, we can't figure out what the signature IS. The curator has looked at signature dictionaries (yes, there is such a thing!) with no luck. My American professor rightly (I think) identified these girls as exotic "types," Spanish or Italian, but none of us know if it was created in Europe or America. Or when. The colors in the image are a bit washed out--the greens and reds are more vibrant in person, and really quite lovely. Gibson did do some work in oils and watercolors later in life, even though he is known primarily as an illustrator for Life. It's just a bummer that this work isn't one of his! It would have made my paper a lot cooler, for one thing. At the same time, though, it's kind of refreshing. I'm so used to studying Western art that is identifiable, that finding something new--even something as minor as this--is pretty fun. I just don't know what to do about it.
***
In completely unrelated news, my mom bought me a loveseat over the weekend (thanks, momma!) and it was delivered today and I'm lying on it now, which is making me really happy. I didn't have any real furniture in my living room until now ("living room" being a sort of a loose term as a I live in a studio). Despite being a used loveseat, it doesn't look too shabby! And who would turn down that awesome 1980's gold fringe, really.
Saturday 2 April 2011
Visitors!!
My mom and one of my godmothers arrived yesterday and I am really glad to see them! (And yes, I have two godmothers. Slightly confusing, I grant you.) The last time my mom was here was when I moved in, and my godmother has never been, so it has been fun showing them the sights, especially since I'm better (sorta) at navigating now. They came bearing chocolate chip cookies, Wegmans products (pasta sauce, Dinosaur BBQ sauce, peanut butter, and salsa), and early birthday presents! I opened my main one, which is a really rockin' digital camera. After 6 years of faithful service, my Kodak bit it a few months ago, and the new one is a Canon. I'm pretty smitten. So here, photographically, is what we did today.*
The Farmer's Market meets every Saturday morning from April until October-November-ish, so today was the first day of the new season! There wasn't a ton of produce yet, except some good looking sweet potatoes, and herbs in pots, baby lettuce, honey, cheese, maple syrup, and random other houseplants. My visitors got seeds and coffee beans, and got me pussy willows to jazz up my place. There were musicians (see above) and a magician and some politicians. And lots of babies in cute hats.
This is also in the same Farmer's Market area, down by City Hall. Pretty cool, right?
After that we went to a craft fair a few streets away, this time indoors. A lot of neat things, especially the jewelery and soap, but we didn't get anything. We had lunch at Turkuaz, which (if I had to pick) is my favorite restaurant here. It is Turkish and the staff is lovely, and we sat on the floor on large pillows, and each got a pide (flat breadboat with deliciousness in it, we had eggplant and garlic/cheese), which comes with a cup of spicy, garlic-y lentil soup, and three little salads--couscous, tomato and cucumber, and cabbage. I take all my guests there, it is that fabulous.
We mostly wanted to take a nap on the floor after that, but instead headed back to the square to poke around the eclectic stores there--they have used bookstores, boardgames and puzzles, fancy lady clothes, you name it! The best, I think, is the free trade store, which is where we spent the most time. My godmother (as an early birthday present) told me she would buy me a scarf in there, so we all got scarves! I picked this one:
It's almost a shawl, really, and far and away the most expensive scarf I've ever owned, but all 3 of us really liked it, and agreed that it was a perfect present. It's Indian, and marvelously soft and flowy. I'm wearing it now, with my pajamas. If this makes me a hedonist, then so be it.
More walking in store, we went over to campus to see my major haunts--namely, the plaza with the rare books library, art museum, fine arts buildings, and auditorium. They got to meet some of my more studious friends, who were being good and were in the library. Here are the visitors, with some Indiana limestone:
This is over by this little chapel, which is randomly by the student union. And lest you were concerned about the weather, you can rest assured that it was really nice out! Flowers are blooming, even!
We had dinner at the Mikado, a Japanese restaurant on my side of town. All the food was good, as per usual, but the best part was actually dessert. We each got a different ice cream and then shared--mango, green tea, and red bean. The red bean was indescribable (sort of vanilla-like, but as my mom pointed out, it almost reminded you more of a fragrance than a flavor, with red bean pieces in it), but I think that was our favorite.
And now I'm back in my apartment, admiring my pussy willows. (Please take note of the adorable photo of my sister and me with Groucho Marx noses on, the Philadelphia Story DVD, and the Van Gogh Sunflowers which my cousin quilted for me for Christmas a few years ago.) Tomorrow my mom is taking me grocery shopping (what a good mom!) and we are doing some other things, while my godmother meets up with her brother and nieces and nephew for some hiking. Visitors are the best, especially as otherwise I would have been chained to my carrel all weekend (this is the last weekend I am allowed to have fun for the rest of the semester, by the way). So, visitors welcome! I mean it.
*I didn't open the camera until later last night, so there is no photographic evidence of yesterday, but here is what we did: wandered the square, met up with some people for First Friday, which is when the downtown galleries open up at night and there are snacks, got dinner at the Trojan Horse, a Greek place downtown that I've never been to, and hung out in my apartment. By the way, the Trojan Horse is great. We got a pitcher of local wheat beer and had fairly small meals, since we were full of snacks. Mine was a grilled sandwich of brie, baby spinach, and apricot jam. Awesome!
The Farmer's Market meets every Saturday morning from April until October-November-ish, so today was the first day of the new season! There wasn't a ton of produce yet, except some good looking sweet potatoes, and herbs in pots, baby lettuce, honey, cheese, maple syrup, and random other houseplants. My visitors got seeds and coffee beans, and got me pussy willows to jazz up my place. There were musicians (see above) and a magician and some politicians. And lots of babies in cute hats.
This is also in the same Farmer's Market area, down by City Hall. Pretty cool, right?After that we went to a craft fair a few streets away, this time indoors. A lot of neat things, especially the jewelery and soap, but we didn't get anything. We had lunch at Turkuaz, which (if I had to pick) is my favorite restaurant here. It is Turkish and the staff is lovely, and we sat on the floor on large pillows, and each got a pide (flat breadboat with deliciousness in it, we had eggplant and garlic/cheese), which comes with a cup of spicy, garlic-y lentil soup, and three little salads--couscous, tomato and cucumber, and cabbage. I take all my guests there, it is that fabulous.
We mostly wanted to take a nap on the floor after that, but instead headed back to the square to poke around the eclectic stores there--they have used bookstores, boardgames and puzzles, fancy lady clothes, you name it! The best, I think, is the free trade store, which is where we spent the most time. My godmother (as an early birthday present) told me she would buy me a scarf in there, so we all got scarves! I picked this one:
It's almost a shawl, really, and far and away the most expensive scarf I've ever owned, but all 3 of us really liked it, and agreed that it was a perfect present. It's Indian, and marvelously soft and flowy. I'm wearing it now, with my pajamas. If this makes me a hedonist, then so be it.More walking in store, we went over to campus to see my major haunts--namely, the plaza with the rare books library, art museum, fine arts buildings, and auditorium. They got to meet some of my more studious friends, who were being good and were in the library. Here are the visitors, with some Indiana limestone:
This is over by this little chapel, which is randomly by the student union. And lest you were concerned about the weather, you can rest assured that it was really nice out! Flowers are blooming, even!
We had dinner at the Mikado, a Japanese restaurant on my side of town. All the food was good, as per usual, but the best part was actually dessert. We each got a different ice cream and then shared--mango, green tea, and red bean. The red bean was indescribable (sort of vanilla-like, but as my mom pointed out, it almost reminded you more of a fragrance than a flavor, with red bean pieces in it), but I think that was our favorite.
And now I'm back in my apartment, admiring my pussy willows. (Please take note of the adorable photo of my sister and me with Groucho Marx noses on, the Philadelphia Story DVD, and the Van Gogh Sunflowers which my cousin quilted for me for Christmas a few years ago.) Tomorrow my mom is taking me grocery shopping (what a good mom!) and we are doing some other things, while my godmother meets up with her brother and nieces and nephew for some hiking. Visitors are the best, especially as otherwise I would have been chained to my carrel all weekend (this is the last weekend I am allowed to have fun for the rest of the semester, by the way). So, visitors welcome! I mean it.*I didn't open the camera until later last night, so there is no photographic evidence of yesterday, but here is what we did: wandered the square, met up with some people for First Friday, which is when the downtown galleries open up at night and there are snacks, got dinner at the Trojan Horse, a Greek place downtown that I've never been to, and hung out in my apartment. By the way, the Trojan Horse is great. We got a pitcher of local wheat beer and had fairly small meals, since we were full of snacks. Mine was a grilled sandwich of brie, baby spinach, and apricot jam. Awesome!
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